The Same But A Little Bit Different
by 0hMyStars
Summary: Clara Oswald has met every incarnation of The Doctor, or has she? Time can be rewritten, and so can he.


_**Author's Note:**_

_**So I wrote this based on a headcanon about the regeneration of the 11th Doctor and it's impact on Whoufflé. However, now Matt Smith's officially bailing on us, I feel a little guilty. So now it's me trying to look on the bright side. Canon up to 'The Name of the Doctor', but ignoring the 50th and John Hurt. Rated T for safety.**_

_**This is my first ever fic so please be nice, and please review! Currently a one shot but I'm open to continuing it if there is any interest.**_

_**Xx**_

_**[Disclaimer: I regrettably do not own Doctor Who]**_

* * *

They are running. Always running. And this occasion is no different.

Clara skids to a halt in front of the TARDIS and something flies, glinting silver, in front of her face. She snatches it from the air and grins, impressed with herself. The Doctor just manages to stop himself from slamming into her, his arms flailing wildly to help keep him balanced.

"I think…we…lost them," he pants, hands on his knees.

"We lost them about five hundred metres ago," she smirks, unlocking the TARDIS door with the key in her hand. "I was just testing your stamina."

His head snaps up to look at her raised eyebrow and coy smile.

"Shut…Up."

She grins and dances inside. Of course he follows, as he always does. How can he do anything else? He watches as she leans against the console, still drowning in his jacket, his bowtie wrapped around her sprained wrist. And then he looks down at himself, grimacing at the waistcoat hanging open, the rolled up shirt sleeves and the slightly excessive number of undone buttons.

"You might want to take this back," Clara suggests as he ambles towards her. She holds out the key. He furrows his brow and takes a step back.

"Now why would I do that? It's yours." She hurriedly steps towards him, thrusting the key towards him.

"I'm not who you want to give this to," she shakes her head vehemently.

"I may not know why, but I _definitely_ know who." He looks her straight in the eyes. Soft, but definitive. As he covers her hand with his, gently closing her fingers around the key, she realises he's not going anywhere. And neither is she. Her eyes brim with tears.

"I don't know why I'm crying."

"I do."

And then he's falling.

His eyes roll back, all his muscles tense and he's falling. The key hits the ground before he does, bouncing and tinkling. She can't move. She can only stare on in horror. And then he slams into the metal beneath them. Hard.

"Doctor!" She hurls herself down next to him, eyes wide and panicking. She cradles his head, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "This was my fault. I shouldn't have…we didn't need to…" He smiles up at her weakly.

"No, no, no. They clearly just had better aim than I thought." He tries laugh, but it turns into a cough and then a full blown seizure. She clutches at him as she dodges his limbs flying everywhere. "Stand. Back." He manages.

"Tell me what to do, tell me how to help you!" He shakes his head urgently. "TELL ME WHAT TO DO!"

He seizes again and his skin suddenly emits a blinding yellow light. But it's not just light. It's energy. Pure, unbounded energy, erupting from every fibre of his body, every cell. It propels Clara away from him, slamming her into the TARDIS console. Her head cracks against the cold metal and everything goes black.

* * *

The Doctor cups Clara's face gently in his hands, as though she's made of porcelain. Her eyes flicker open and he searches them for any sign of concussion. He breathes a sigh of relief as he realises there is no lasting damage.

Clara's vision is hazy, and she can only make out shapes as a pair of strong arms ease her to her feet, and encircle her. She inhales The Doctor's familiar scent. She could never pin point exactly what made it so distinctive. He smells of everything and nothing, of the unknown and the familiar, exhilaration and comfort, danger and safety. To Clara, he smells like home. She smiles into his warm chest, feeling the familiar rhythm of two beating hearts.

And then, like a current of electricity, it all comes flooding back. She pulls away from him and looks up to see a face that is completely alien to her. He looks concerned.

"You…"

"Oh. Of course. I'm sorry. It might take some getting used to."

"But-" she begins, and then tries to process this…turn of events. "But I saw all of you. At Trenzalore. I saw _all _of you."

"In that timeline, I didn't survive to this point," he explains gently, "but then you happened." His eyes light up. "Time can be rewritten. _People_ can be rewritten. This must be a lot for you to take in. I'm sorry." He runs his hand through his hair.

"Oh. Oh! New hair. New hair, new hair, new hair!" He runs both hands through it. This quiff is gone and is replaced by thick, loose waves sweeping across his head. He cranes his neck to get a better look in the metal panels of the TARDIS.

"I'M GINGER." He squeals. "At _last_!" Clara attempts to stifle a laugh, turning it into a snort.

"Hardly. You're blonde." They both inspect his new look.

"Blonde," she reaffirms.

"Oh come now! There's a hint of red in there."

"The tiniest tinge."

"But a tinge nonetheless!"

"Only in certain lights." He scowls at her, and she raises her eyebrows, giving him that look he can never seem to rebut.

"Fine. Blonde. _Strawberry _blonde." She struggles to keep from laughing again, biting down on her lip. She'll let him have this one.

A new thought occurs to him.

"New _hair_," he repeats once again. His hands abruptly fly to his brow ridge. "Eyebrows! It's been a while; I'd almost forgotten what they feel like." He caresses them fondly for a moment.

Suddenly he is all too aware of where Clara's eyes are fixated. She takes a tentative step towards him, until that oh-so-alien concept of personal space has once again become inconsequential. Hesitating, she reaches her hand out to touch his face, gently tracing his jawline with her fingers, until she reaches his chin. It's still strong, but less…prominent.

"Chin Boy," she murmurs, with a sad half-smile.

He delicately cups her cheek in his hand, smiling tenderly, and a little apologetically. She looks up at him. She decides he's about half an inch shorter now, but he doesn't stoop anymore, so he stands a little taller. She studies his eyes. Although they are now a piercing pale blue instead of the usual green, they convey all the warmth and devotion they always had done.

Clara smiles a little, and her hands drop from his face, landing on his chest. She looks at the state of disarray he seems to be in and steps back. She quietly unwraps the bowtie from her wrist and holds it out to him.

"I don't think I need it," he says quietly, taking it and tying it around her wrist again like a bracelet. And suddenly her eyes are full of panic and she's clutching the fabric as though her life depends on it. She begins to back away from him.

"You're not you anymore. People can be rewritten. That's what you said. But it's not just your timeline, or your biology. It's you." Her tone is accusatory and she's close to shouting.

"Clara please calm down. It's still me. I'm the same man I always have been! Nothing's cha-"

"No!" Now she's shouting. "Don't give me that crap! I know you, remember? I've seen _every_ one of you; I've _met_ every one of you. Don't even try to tell me you're the same man you were all those years ago on Gallifrey, because you're not! And I should know better than anyone!" The Doctor sighs.

"I understand that I've changed but can you honestly say that it hasn't been for the best? I'm a much better man now than I was then, and do you want to know why? Because who I am is so dependent on the people I share my world with. Just imagine how much better _you've_ made me!" He's starting to feel angry himself.

"Don't expect me to fall at your feet after some half arsed compliment. You can't expect things to stay the same after this can you? Things between us." That's done it.

"There is _nothing _that will change anything between us. Do you honestly have little faith?! I can't believe you would even question it!"

"How on earth do you know that this 'new you' means the same to me as you used to? And how can you know that you still feel the same about me? Whoever you are now could hate everything about me! You're different now. You're going to move on. It was always going to happen. You were going to get tired of me. This has just moved things along a bit. Grow up and accept it!" She's screaming at him know, and her eyes are brimming with tears.

He stares her straight in the eye and strides over to her. He grasps her waist with one hand and the back of her neck with the other. Before she can protest his lips are covering hers and he's kissing her with everything he has, desperately trying to communicate that nothing could ever change the way he feels about her, nothing could ever make him fall out of love with her.

When he releases her Clara takes a step back, mystified. In a daze, she slowly brings her hand up to her lips. Then something shifts in her mind and she slaps him square in the face. He gasps, staggering slightly as he regains his balance.

"You're impossible!" he exclaims in frustration, but before he can continue she's up on her tiptoes, throwing her arms around his neck. She kisses him back, running her hands through his hair, familiarising herself with this new Doctor. Her new Doctor. He responds by wrapping his arms around her waist.

After what seems like an eternity, but not nearly long enough, she pulls away, leaning her forehead against his.

"And you are highly improbable." The tears finally overflow.

He laughs, kissing her again. And this time he lifts her into the air and spins her around.

It's been a long time since either of them has felt this whole.


End file.
